Mana'o'i'o, hilina'i
by sparkywriter
Summary: (Believe) Steve and the team are once again forced to trust their guts and believe in each other even when every shred of evidence points to one of their own's guilt.


Disclaimer – I don't own Hawaii 5-O or Steve McGarrett. What I do to him in my dreams is my intellectual property, though. And if you're nice, I might just share the less smutty stuff with ya!

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"Dammit!" Steve exclaimed loudly after losing his grip for the fourth time on the wriggling, naked toddler he'd been attempting to wrestle into a pair of pajamas. He sprang from the floor and followed the rambunctious laughter as it trailed down the hallway from the bathroom toward the master bedroom. He caught just a glimpse of a compact, bare bottom before it disappeared around the corner.

"John Daniel McGarett!" Steve bellowed, following his son. "Get your butt back here!"

Two and a half year old Jack, or Jack Daniel as Danny took _great_ delight in calling his godson, was scrambling up the bed and into his mother's waiting arms. "Mama!" he said brightly as Jennifer lifted him as best she could over her swollen belly to sit beside her on the bed. "Daddy said bad word."

"I know!" Jennifer answered, pointing at the monitor on the night stand. "I heard. What do we tell Daddy?"

Jack stood up on the bed, put one fist on his hip, scrunched up his little face and pointed a finger at Steve. "Gimme all jor money!"

Steve glared at his son before allowing his mouth to break into a wide grin. He ruffled Jack's dark hair and pushed gently on his forehead, causing the toddler to fall backward stiffly on the mattress, one of his favorite games. "Daddy doesn't negotiate with naked terrorists," Steve countered. He grabbed one of Jack's ankles and dragged him down the bed, finally clothing the boy in a pull-up and pajama bottoms thanks to an assist from Jennifer, who was holding Jack's wrists, "refusing" to let Steve take her boy away.

His phone rang on the nightstand and he tossed Jack's pajama shirt to Jennifer. "McGarrett," he said by way of a greeting. He listened for a moment and watched in dismay as his wife easily tugged the top onto their now complacent son. Jack snuggled in to Jennifer's side and she reached for the remote to change the television over to Disney Jr. "On my way," Steve concluded, ending the call before stabbing another number on the main screen.

"Hey, Ma," Steve began, grinning at a now groaning Jennifer. "I just caught a case. Yep, need to head out. Five minutes, okay, bye."

"I don't need a babysitter!" Jennifer wailed; scooting up the bed to rest higher on the pillows propped behind her head. "I'm a grown-damned woman!"

Steve grabbed his badge from the dresser and hooked it onto his belt before pointing from son to mother. "Dude?!"

Jack launched into action, jumping up and down on the bed. "Gimme money, Mama!"

Jennifer groaned again and yanked open the drawer to her nightstand. She pulled out a dollar bill and handed it to Jack. He bounced off the bed and raced to his bedroom. "I…don't…need…a…babysitter…" Jennifer repeated through gritted teeth.

Steve leaned over and kissed her gently. "Actually there's a highly educated maternal fetal specialist in a really big hospital downtown who was says you _do_."

"He's a quack," she grumbled irritably.

Steve scratched at the side of his face thoughtfully. "Those degrees on his walls from Stanford and Johns Hopkins seem to suggest otherwise."

"Bought online," Jennifer huffed.

Steve laughed and rested his hand on Jennifer's belly before pressing another kiss to her lips. "Yeah, well that _quack_ is keeping my wife and daughter safe, so…"

Jennifer narrowed her green eyes at him and crossed her arms over her chest. "Suck it up, already?"

He patted her leg and stood from bed, calling out "Your words, not mine," over his shoulder as he departed.

He met his mother on the staircase and kissed her cheek quickly before passing her and shouting information as he took the stairs down two at a time. "The boy had a bath and is ready for bed. Your daughter's in a 'mood', so good luck with _that_."

"I heard that!" Jennifer roared from upstairs.

He grabbed his truck keys off the entry table and shouted back at her "I love you!" before slamming the door on his way out.

He arrived at the crime scene less than twenty minutes later and was surprised when the Governor's Chief of Staff nearly yanked him out of his vehicle. "What the hell, Matt?" Steve demanded as his boots roughly made contact with the gravel road below.

Matt Chanton dragged Steve to the back of the truck and motioned for Danny, who had just arrived, to join them. "The car wrapped around the tree up there is Christian's," he nearly whispered. "The young woman inside is Christian's girlfriend Marissa Wahine."

"Christian, as in Christian Denning?" Danny asked for clarification.

Matt nodded affirmatively. "Why are we whispering?" Danny questioned.

"The driver's side window is shattered, there's evidence of blood on the door. Whoever was driving the car; was at minimum, injured," Matt continued. "First responders only found Marissa, and she's in the passenger seat."

"So where's Christian?" Steve inquired.

"He's been at home since 4 o'clock having a Grid racing war with his brother," Matt replied. "The Governor hasn't told him yet."

Steve and Danny looked up to find Kono striding toward them, a troubled look set firmly on her features. "Kono?" Steve drawled curiously.

"Is Chin here?" she asked demanded.

Danny looked around before turning back to the brunette officer. "Does it _look_ like he's here?"

She ran a hand through her hair and worried her bottom lip with her teeth. "Something's wrong. He's not answering his phone. I left three messages. Texted him twice, went by the house before I came here. I have no idea where he is."

Danny waggled his eyebrows. "Maybe he and Malia are off having some, uh, Barry White time, if you catch my drift?"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "You're a pig and no. Malia's on shift; hasn't seen him since lunchtime."

"Commander McGarrett?" a uniformed female officer stepped carefully over to the trio. "Sir, 911 relayed a call about a car-jacking 2 miles due north of here. The teenager who made the call described the perp to the dispatcher, and Commander, I don't want to speak out of turn, but…"

The officer seemed hesitant to continue, so Steve gently took her elbow and nodded expectantly. "The description sounds _just_ like Lieutenant Kelly," she finally concluded.

TBC…

A/N – Before anybody gets upset about Jennifer being bitchy about bed rest…I've _been_ on bed rest and there comes a point (for me anyway) when, no matter how much good you know you are doing for your baby, there is nothing in the world you want more than the hell OUT of that bed. Especially when you are used to going 90 miles an hour, all day, every day. It's hhhaaarrrrdddddd and some of us end up being not quite as precious princess-y pleasant as we might otherwise be.


End file.
